


Your Mouth is Poison, Your Mouth is Wine

by LSquared80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, artwork, cat and mouse game, the Thomas Crown Affair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: A painting is stolen from a prominent Westeros museum. After Jaime Lannister makes a donation to take its place, insurance investigator Brienne Tarth becomes convinced he had something to do with the theft.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 66
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My tradition of inserting Jaime and Brienne into modern movie plots continues. This is loosely based on the 1999 version of The Thomas Crown Affair.
> 
> The setting is the early 90s, before we could Google everything and everyone.

Rain was perpetual in Storm’s End. It came down straight or sideways, in a downpour or a trickle. It came down if the sun was in the sky or if dark clouds hovered. There were times the rain disguised itself as a mere mist, deceiving Brienne Tarth into thinking she could leave the office for lunch without an umbrella. “No one ever said the city wasn’t appropriately named,” her father was fond of saying whenever she complained over the phone. 

The rain came down in sheets of cold water the day she returned to work at Westeros Mutual Insurance after a long weekend spent alone in her one-bedroom apartment. The rhythm of it striking the windows of her office was a detriment to her productivity; the sound lulled Brienne into a calm haze. She tried to focus on her calendar, noting she had to drive to Bronzegate as part of her investigation into a worker’s compensation claim. _Just once_ , she thought, _I’d like to be sent somewhere sunny and warm like Dorne. Preferably with Renly._

Renly Baratheon occupied the office next door, although _occupied_ was a strong term; he spent a great deal of time in the field. He was the first to volunteer for an out of town assignment. He trained Brienne and she saw firsthand how his charming personality was an asset to the job. Renly was able to display great empathy for someone in a painful situation, and people who were lying to claim an exorbitant amount of money were compelled to confess. She’d been smitten with him since her first day of work, when he bought her a latte on the way to interview the victim of an auto accident. 

A knock at the door made Brienne flinch. She cleared her throat, rapidly blinked her tired eyes, and called out, “Come in.” 

Her boss, Davos Seaworth, opened the door. He greeted her warmly and crossed the floor to sit in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk from where she sat. He held a file on his lap. “I have a new case for you,” he said. 

Brienne straightened her spine against the back of the chair, mindful of how she’d been slouching as she struggled to keep her focus on work. “Oh? Another worker’s comp?” 

Davos shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder at the open door. He stood to seal it shut before returning to his seat, and Brienne knew he wasn’t there to discuss any ordinary claim. “A painting was stolen from the CMFA,” he said, referring to the Crownland’s Museum of Fine Art in King’s Landing – the largest and most influential art museum in Westeros. Its permanent collection was comprised of more than thirty-thousand paintings, sculptures, photographs, and other pieces by the world’s most revered artists. 

“Which painting?” 

“Selmy’s _Lion's Rock_.” 

Brienne’s eyes widened. The centuries old painting was recognizable around the world. She’d been gifted a framed poster of the masterpiece on her sixteenth nameday, and it still hung above the desk in her childhood bedroom. It was a realistic painting of two lions perched atop a high-reaching, golden rock, looking down at the sea. The colors were alluring – shades of gold and red were a stark contrast against the sapphire of the water, which had always reminded her of the sea surrounding her home. 

“We’re worried about an inside job, of course,” he remarked. 

“Do you have the file?” she asked. “I can look over it when I get back from Bronze-” 

“You’ll need to look over it now." He set the heavy file on the desk and pushed it toward her. “I’ll put someone else on the worker’s comp. This is your only priority now, Brienne. I need you to go to King’s Landing today.” 

She absorbed the directive. Any frustration she felt at having her workload shuffled around was overshadowed by the answered prayer of going to a drier, warmer climate. “Alone?” she asked, casting a quick, hopeful glance to the wall she shared with Renly. 

“Yes,” Davos told her. 

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall as she calculated the time it would take to make the drive. Brienne said, “Even if I leave in the next hour, I won’t get there until midnight, at the earliest.” 

“I'm flying you there. There’s too much money at stake to wait. Go home, pack a bag, and I'll send a car to pick you up.” 

Her heart raced and she felt sweat bead along her brow. The situation sounded dire and covert and the role she had to play seemed crucial. It was quite the compliment that Davos had chosen her to handle the investigation. “Yes, sir. I’ll leave now.” Brienne stood up, plucked her coat from the hook on the wall, and began to open the door. 

“The file,” Davos said with a laugh. 

“Right. The file.” She backtracked, realizing she hadn’t taken her purse or keys either. 

Davos stood up. “Take a deep breath, Brienne. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re the best person for the job.” 

* 

The job was going to require a great deal of organization on her part, and Brienne sat down to study the file as the crew of the plane readied for takeoff. She didn’t have time to marvel at the luxuriousness of flying First Class. She immediately began highlighting and writing notes in the margin, even marking certain pages with tabs of colorful, sticky paper. 

She had changed from her usual workday outfit of black slacks, a pullover top, and flats to a gray pantsuit and black high-heeled pumps. After thirty minutes in the air, Brienne relieved her feet of the constricting shoes. She requested coffee for a boost of energy and whisky to calm her nerves. Every time the attendant came over to check on her, Brienne covered the pages of the file with her hands. 

The text included a history of the painting. The meat of the document was profiles of and statements by the key players in the museum – archivists, curators, and the director. There was information on every single employee, from handlers to the cashiers in the gift shop. Brienne’s vision grew bleary. She was about to close the file and take a break when a name caught her eye. 

_Jaime Lannister._

She grabbed a red pen and underlined the name. Brienne read the paragraph where he was mentioned from the beginning, confused about his affiliation with CMFA. She knew Jaime Lannister as a member of one of the wealthiest families in Westeros. He’d been related to Renly by marriage until the untimely demise of his twin sister, Cersei. 

He called himself an entrepreneur, but that was a fancy way of saying his ancestors had made a lot of money mining gold and he lived off their wealth. He’d put the money toward various endeavors, from opening a boxing gym to buying a popular vacation resort in Dorne. Every so often Jaime was featured in a magazine as one of the most eligible bachelors in Westeros, and while Brienne had to admit he was strikingly handsome with perfect white teeth and captivating green eyes, she loathed him. He seemed smarmy and spoiled, and his family’s money and influence had bought him out of several situations where he should have served time in jail. 

Most likely Jaime Lannister was a longtime donor of the museum or sat on the board of directors, but all she could gather was that his only affiliation with CMFA was gifting a painting. Shortly after the Selmy was taken, he offered an original Aemon to fill the space vacated by _Lion's Rock_. Brienne made a note to ask the museum’s director about the extent of Lannister’s involvement – was it normal for him to be so generous toward the arts? 

“Ms. Tarth,” the attendant said, walking through the curtain that separated the passengers from the staff, “the pilot wants you to know we’re ten minutes out. Please fasten your seatbelt.” 

* 

The Crownland’s Museum of Fine Art was a breathtaking monument. It shared a vast piece of land with gardens, a lake, a theater, and several cafes and restaurants. The museum itself was in an unusual building the shape of a half-circle with a beautiful fountain at the center. It had three stories of historical and modern art inside its walls. 

Brienne was greeted at the entrance by two security guards and a woman who identified herself as the director. “Ms. Tarth, welcome. I’m Catelyn Stark,” she said, offering her hand. 

“Hello. Nice to meet you,” Brienne said. 

They began to walk through the lobby and the wheels of Brienne’s lone piece of luggage scraped loudly across the marble floor. “Perhaps you can leave that with security,” Catelyn suggested. 

“Yes, that would be great. I didn’t have time to go to the hotel first.” 

As they walked, Catelyn explained the events prior to the realization the Selmy had been stolen. There was a freak power outage, she said, which caused mayhem during peak hours with the most occupants possible – tours of school children, busses of visitors from a nursing home, and the usual crowd of tourists. The outage meant none of the security cameras were recording during the theft, and the only oddity they captured when the lights came back on was a child running through the hallway outside the surveillance hub. “You can’t see his face, though,” Catelyn said as they slowed to a stop. She gestured at the wall where the donated Aemon painting, _Godswood at Sunrise_ , had been hung. 

“This was donated by Jaime Lannister?” Brienne asked, a note of confusion in her voice. 

“That’s correct,” Catelyn said. “I’m not a fan of Mr. Lannister’s, but we couldn’t turn down the opportunity to display an Aemon. Not when our biggest draw is gone.” 

Brienne moved closer to the artwork. She was familiar with it, although it had never been a personal favorite. There were so many paintings depicting the mythical tree and she didn’t find Aemon’s to be the best. It was too impressionistic for her taste. “He did this unprompted?” she asked. 

Catelyn nodded. 

“What is Mr. Lannister’s affiliation with the museum? Is he a frequent donor?” 

“No,” Catelyn stated. “I’d say he’s been here from time to time as a visitor, but nothing more.” 

“Recently, do you know?” 

Catelyn folded her arms. “Why the focus on him?” 

Brienne shrugged. “I’m just covering all the bases.” 

“The detectives think it was a failed heist.” 

“Failed?” Brienne questioned her. 

Catelyn nodded. “They think it was a group effort. They meant to get more than one piece but something went wrong.” 

Brienne turned her gaze to the painting. “I’ll be meeting with the detectives as part of my investigation.” She said it like an afterthought, as though she already knew what had taken place. 

* 

The Chateau Mormont was a hotel on the same campus as the museum. It was the most luxurious place Brienne had ever spent a night. The room smelled of sea salt and lavender and clean linen. The cream-colored walls were decorated with prints of the artwork that lived in the museum, and she had to smile at the placement of _Lion's Rock_ above the four-poster bed. 

A sliding door opened onto a small balcony that overlooked the pool. Brienne turned all of the lights on and carried the file and a mug of hot tea outside with her. She sat on the chaise and returned to the mention of Jaime Lannister. She recognized her suspicion could be the result of her general dislike of the man, but it was in fact odd that someone who had never made a substantial donation to the museum so quickly donated the painting. It was almost as if a sense of guilt had compelled him to do so. If he didn’t have a part to play in the theft, Brienne thought he knew the responsible person or persons. 

She made a note to find out if Jaime had any children, especially considering the footage captured on the camera. She needed to dig into any possible connections between Jaime and museum workers. She wrote a list of tasks for the next day, including not only interviewing him but his household staff, neighbors, friends, and the woman or women inevitably in his life. 

Brienne closed the file and looked up at the stars. She took a deep breath, enjoying the lack of rain pouring down from the sky, before she went inside to report back to Davos. She wasn’t going to tell him about Lannister just yet; he would no doubt think she was reaching, but her instinct said otherwise. 

* 

As the sun rose over King’s Landing, Brienne placed several phone calls to obtain Jaime Lannister’s home address and phone number. She wasn’t able to reach him personally, and although the doorman of his apartment building would not reveal his exact whereabouts, he did suggest Mr. Lannister could be “at the office.” 

The office, she learned after placing several more calls, was at Lannister Enterprises – his father’s media company. Brienne was surprised by the idea Jaime had an actual job. She showered, dressed in a fresh navy-blue pantsuit, and called for a cab to take her downtown. 

* 

Lannister Enteprises occupied the twenty-seventh floor of a high-rise in downtown King’s Landing. The elevator doors opened to an ornate lobby with red carpet and gold accents. Brienne approached the receptionist’s desk and said, “I’m here to see Jaime Lannister.” 

“Do you have an appointment?” the young woman asked, only giving Brienne a cursory glance. 

She shook her head. “No. You can tell him I’m Brienne Tarth from Westeros Mutual. I’m here about the painting.” 

The girl reached for the phone. “Okay,” she said, her eyes on the pages of a fashion magazine opened on the desk. She spoke into the receiver, “There’s a Br... Brian Tart or something here to see you.” There was a pause and she responded, “Something about paint?” 

Soon, Brienne was instructed to go through the doors and to the right, all the way down the hallway to the last office on the left. She followed the directions and knocked on the door with Jaime’s name engraved on a gold plate across the front. 

The door opened and she realized looking at a photo of the man was quite different from seeing him in the flesh. He was almost as tall as her, with a head of golden hair that was perfectly tousled and slightly longer than her own. His skin was sun-kissed and his eyes were magnetic and when he spoke, his voice was smooth as honey. 

“Ah, you’re a _woman_ ,” he said, opening the door wider. 

“ _Brienne_ Tarth,” she clarified, extending her hand. Jaime reached out, and his skin was soft and warm and his grip sturdy. 

“Jaime Lannister,” he told her. “But you obviously know that already.” He grinned. “Come in, please.” 

She stepped into the office and calculated it was three times as big as hers at the agency in Storm’s End. 

“You wanted to talk to me about paint?” he asked. “Unfortunately, I have no plans to redec-” 

“No,” Brienne clarified, “about a painting. The _Lion's Rock_.” She heard the door close behind her. 

Jaime circled around her to stand at a bar cart on the opposite side of the room. “Can I get you a drink? Water?” 

She shook her head. 

He gestured to one of the sofas, inviting her to sit. 

“I’m an investigator with Westeros Mutual,” Brienne explained as she settled on the small sofa. “I’ve been assigned the case of the artwork stolen from the CMFA. I know you’re aware, Mr. Lannister, as I know you donated a piece to take the Selmy’s place.” 

Jaime sat down across from her. “That’s correct,” he said. 

Her eyes roved around the room, taking note of the lack of artwork on the walls. Instead, there were a few framed photographs of landmarks in the city. “Are you on the museum’s board of directors?” 

“No.” 

“A donor?” 

He shook his head. 

“Collector?” 

Jaime shrugged. “That might be too strong of a word, but I do own some artwork, Ms. Tarth. Obviously, you know about the Aemon. I have a sculpture near the entrance to my resort in Salt Shore. I commissioned it from Osha before she passed away.” He paused, thinking. “Have you heard of Theon Greyjoy? I have one of his paintings.” He leaned forward. “Why do you need to speak to me exactly?” 

“It's my job, Mr. Lannister. I have to interview everyone associated with the theft and that includes the man who so quickly donated a piece to replace it. What compelled you to do that?” 

“Do I need a lawyer, Ms. Tarth?” he asked, serious until a playful grin graced his lips. He laughed and settled back against the cushions. “When my mother was alive, the museum was one of her favorite places. She took me and my siblings there all the time. We used to sit on the bench in front of the Selmy and eat lunch. I couldn’t stand to think of that spot being empty. I couldn’t replace it with the same painting, obviously, but I had something I thought people would enjoy just as much.” 

Brienne had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She doubted he was that sentimental. She thought of the security camera footage. “Do you have children, Mr. Lannister?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

She looked at him a long while. 

Jaime shifted in his seat. 

“What do you do here at Lannister Enterprises?” 

“Whatever my father asks me to do. Quite often that is to sit quietly, keep my mouth shut, and,” his voice dropped an octave as he finished with, “keep my hands to myself." 

Brienne’s teeth pinched her bottom lip. After a brief stretch of silence, she scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion and said, “This is a very nice office. You could fit three of mine in here.” She stood up and began to walk along the perimeter of the room. She stopped to look at several framed photos on a shelf. One was a photo – older, frayed around the ages and faded from time – of a woman who had his green eyes, another was Jaime in a tuxedo flanked by his father and deceased sister. 

“Look, Ms. Tarth,” he said, standing up, “I have nothing to hide. As someone who has always enjoyed going to the museum, I think they deserve to receive their claim in full. So, I’d like to help however I can.” 

“I appreciate that.” 

“Well,” he said, “I don’t appreciate feeling like I’m being accused of something. Why don’t you come to my apartment tonight for a drink? We can have a discussion and you’ll see all I did was donate a painting.” 

“I’m meeting with the detectives this afternoon and some of the museum staff this evening. And I don’t think it would be appropriate to-” 

“Tomorrow evening then,” he said. “The receptionist has my schedule. She’ll set a time and give you my address.” 

Brienne grinded her teeth. If it was the only way she could get more time with him, it would have to do. “Thank you, Mr. Lannister. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” 

He stood and followed her to the door, quickening his pace to reach it first and pull it open for her. “Looking forward to it, Ms. Tarth.” 

* 

The letters painted on the frosted, front window of the boxing gym spelled out its name, _Eight_ – a reference to the amount of recovery time given to a boxer after he stands up from being knocked down. It hadn’t been opened to the public for several months, but when Jaime opened the door, he was still assaulted by the pungent odor of men’s sweat and blood; it was embedded in the vinyl floor of the ring and the punching bags. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he walked to his small office in the back. 

Jaime flipped the switch on the wall. The overhead bulbs flickered. He removed a framed poster of a legendary match between his two favorite boxers, revealing a safe built in to the wall. He leaned the frame against the wall and turned the dial until the small door popped open. Jaime removed a key from his pocket, set it inside the safe, and locked it. He hung the frame back on the nail, straightening it before he exited the small room. 

He hadn’t intended to work out, but the more Jaime thought about the visit he received from Brienne Tarth, the more he needed to blow off steam. He removed his shirt, stripping down to his black dress pants. He picked up the nearest pair of gloves and threw a right hook at a punching bag hanging from the wall, picturing the blonde woman’s already crooked nose as he made contact with the vinyl. She seemed haughty, and like a lot of people he encountered, had decided he was bad before they even met. He didn’t hear the door open and shut, and Jaime startled at the sight of Bronn, a longtime friend and employee of the Lannister family. 

“What’s got you so worked up?” Bronn asked. 

Jaime pushed the gloves to the floor. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “I need you to dig up dirt on someone.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets with Jaime and he does his best to deflect her questions.

Jaime could be found in the corner booth of The Red Keep – a bar and grille he owned with his brother, Tyrion – most mornings. He could drink coffee, read the newspaper, and have a gourmet breakfast prepared for him without a crowd of people hovering around. He could ruminate over impossibly tall, annoying blonde women who put a target on his back. 

He understood how the receptionist had mistaken Brienne Tarth for a man. She was probably still taller than him without high-heeled shoes. From behind, her broad shoulders and short hair were rather masculine. But Jaime had spent most of their short time together focused on her mouth – her pink, plump lips and elegant, commanding voice. If she hadn’t been interrogating him, everything she said would have been a turn-on. 

The bells above the door chimed. Jaime looked over the top of the King’s Landing Daily Herald he was holding. He locked eyes with Bronn and folded the paper, setting it aside. 

Bronn stalked across the floor to join Jaime in the booth. A young woman came out from behind the bar carrying a glass of amber colored liquid, knowing Bronn’s preferred drink, and set it in front of him. He ogled her ass as she walked away and said, “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

“Did you find anything?” Jaime asked. He didn’t know – and didn’t want to know, for his own protection – the resources Bronn had had his fingertips to uncover people’s true selves and deepest secrets. But when it served Jaime well, he called upon that skill. 

Bronn took a long, loud gulp of his drink. “She’s basically a saint,” he said of Brienne Tarth. “No criminal record. No DUIs. As far as I can tell, never even stole a piece of candy as a kid.” 

“No one is that good,” Jaime said. 

Bronn shrugged. “Her mother died when she was four. She was raised by her father and lived with him up until she moved to Storm’s End to work in the illustrious world of insurance claims. The only interesting thing there is she works with Renly Baratheon.” 

“Really?” Jaime asked, surprised. “And there’s nothing there? Is she his beard?” 

“Not that I found. She’s never been married. Never had a boyfriend, far as I can tell.” 

"Girlfriend?” 

“No evidence of a lady love either,” Bronn told him. “Total waste, if you ask me. I’d fuck her.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, come on. You’d fuck her too.” 

“She’s not my type,” Jaime said. “But that’s beside the point. You really found nothing? She never profited off a false claim? Accepted a bribe?” 

Bronn shook his head. “No parking tickets, paid or unpaid. She volunteers at a soup kitchen two nights a week. Like I said, she’s a saint.” 

Jaime mouthed, “Fuck,” and clenched his hands into fists on the table. 

“Don’t worry about it. Be you’re charming self and she’ll take your name off her list.” 

* 

The suitcase was open on the bed. Brienne had only packed pantsuits and one casual outfit she meant to save for the trip home. She had worn the black pantsuit to meet with the detectives and for staff interviews, but she hesitated keeping it on to meet with Jaime Lannister. She wondered if wearing the suit was too authoritative, and thought he might be more likely to slip-up and over speak if she didn’t _look_ like an investigator. 

Brienne exchanged the pants for jeans. She tossed her camisole and jacket aside, sliding a thin, long-sleeved sweater over her head. She sat on the edge of the bed to tie the laces of her black boots. As she dressed, she ran through her conversations with the detectives and rehearsed what to say to Jaime. They were convinced a group heist had been thwarted, and she was convinced that Jaime Lannister was the mastermind. 

* 

The apartment Jaime lived in was a penthouse in a luxury high-rise, and when Brienne gave her name to the doorman he smiled and said, “Go on up. Mr. Lannister is expecting you.” 

The elevator stopped at the thirtieth floor and the doors opened directly to the foyer. A moment later she heard footsteps followed by Jaime’s voice saying, “Come on in,” as he rounded the corner to greet her. “I take it you didn’t have any issues getting up here?” 

Brienne shook her head. 

He smiled. “Good.” 

She followed him out of the small hallway and was stunned by what she saw – a spacious sitting area, dining table, and kitchen surrounded by floor to ceiling windows with a spectacular view of the city and Blackwater Bay. Brienne looked over her shoulder at the second level where she guessed the bedrooms were, then turned her attention back to the windows, approaching slowly. 

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights?” 

“No,” Brienne said. 

Jaime laughed. “How could you be?” 

She craned her neck to glare at him. 

“It’s not an insult,” he assured her. “I’m tall. You’re not much taller than me when you’re not wearing high heels.” He walked up to her, mere inches apart, demonstrating how level their faces were while she wore flat boots. “See?” 

Brienne gulped. He smelled like peppermint and expensive cologne. She took a step backward. “People tend to think my height is fodder for their amusement,” she told him, and immediately regretted the insight into one of her insecurities. She quickly turned the subject toward business. “Mr. Lannister, I met with detectives today. I’d like to ask you a few questions about-” 

“How about that drink first?” 

She sighed. “Okay.” 

“Have a seat,” Jaime said, pointing toward the other end of the room where a sofa and chairs faced the fireplace. “I’ll be right back. You like rum, I hope?” 

“Sure,” she called out as she took a seat on the end of the sofa. 

In the kitchen, Jaime poured rum, cognac, and triple sec into a cocktail shaker. He added a squeeze of lemon juice and shook the concoction with ice. He paused before pouring the drinks into two glasses, bending to look out into the living room at the back of her head. He recalled everything Bronn had told him and wondered if she was as honorable as she looked on paper. He added a twist of orange slice to each glass and carried them into the other room. 

Brienne expected Jaime to sit in the armchair she was facing, but instead he sat beside her on the sofa. She had to maneuver to look at him and take the offered cocktail glass. “Thank you,” she said, holding the drink below her nose and inhaling the citrus smell. She took a sip. 

He told her what liquor it contained and said, “If you look up the recipe, this drink is called Between the Sheets.” 

Brienne paused with her lips at the rim, blushing. Instead of taking another sip she set the glass on the table. “Mr. Lannister, how did-” 

“You don’t like the drink?” he asked. He had noticed how various shades of red bloomed in her cheeks at innuendo and when he stood a little too close. Jaime thought perhaps she was as pure as Bronn’s research said. “I can make you something else.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Brienne answered, flustered. “What I need to know is-” 

“Are you hungry?” 

She shook her head. 

“Are you sure? I have fresh sea bass. Right off the boat.” He paused, smiling. “That probably doesn’t impress you considering you live on the coast.” 

She shrugged. 

“Were you raised in Storm’s End?” 

“Evenfall,” she said. 

Jaime set his drink down. “I was there once. Beautiful beaches. The island is known as the... what is it?” 

“Sapphire isle.” 

He nodded and leaned forward. Jaime wondered how he had missed it before – her eyes were the most startling shade of blue he had ever seen. “Your eyes match the sea,” he told her. 

She stammered, trying to find her voice. “Okay, well. Can you tell me-” 

The phone rang and Jaime excused himself to answer. He stood a few feet away, looking at her while he spoke into the receiver. “Is it bad?” he asked, and then, “I can’t get there until Friday.” 

Brienne tried not to look right at him. She stood up and walked to the mantle, perusing the framed photos taking up the space. She recognized a woman in several of the pictures as the woman he kept a photo of in his office, and surmised she was his mother. 

Jaime hung up the phone. He watched her a moment, his eyes zeroing in on the picture that currently held her attention. “That’s my mother,” he confirmed as he walked to the mantle, standing beside her. “Joanna.” 

“She’s beautiful.” 

“Yes, she was.” 

Brienne turned to face him. 

“She passed away when I was a kid. Twenty-eight years ago.” 

Brienne did the math, putting Jaime at around twelve when he lost his mother. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I was four when my mother died.” She paused, cringing. “That sounded... it’s not a competition, obviously. I only-” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime told her, sincerely. “I consider myself fortunate to have a lot of good memories of her. Four is awfully young.” 

“I remember some things,” she said, walking back to the sofa. When she sat down, Brienne felt the V-neckline of her sweater slide down her left shoulder and she adjusted the material, regretting her choice of wardrobe when that only made the other side shift. 

Jaime’s eyes darted down to her chest. Every time her shoulder was exposed, he was aware of the lack of bra strap. In turn he became aware of the shape of her small breasts, and knowing nothing separated them from the fabric of her sweater made his jeans tighten. He forced his gaze up. “You were raised by your father?” he asked, his voice cracking as he shifted in his seat. 

“Yes. He was a remarkable single parent.” 

“I can’t say the same about Tywin Lannister.” 

Brienne offered a sympathetic smile until she suddenly realized that Jaime was the one asking all of the questions. Angry at him and at herself for getting off track, she needed to reset. “Will you excuse me? I need to use the restroom.” 

He nodded. “Up the stairs and to the right,” he told her, watching as she got up and walked across the room. When she was out of sight, he gulped down his drink and went to the kitchen for more. Instead of mixing another cocktail, he picked up a bottle and drank from it. 

After a while, Jaime had a bad feeling. She had been gone a long time and he heard the floor above him creak. He took another hefty swig before darting up the stairs. He looked into his bedroom and then proceeded down the hallway where he found her in his home office. 

Brienne startled but recovered quickly. She had never gone to the bathroom; she’d gone directly into the office and opened the closet. Finding nothing suspicious, she had scanned any loose paper on his desk. She’d pocketed a piece of paper crumbled in the trash can with a phone number and the initials _S.C._ and intended to cross reference it with her list of museum staff. When she’d heard footsteps, she turned her attention to a bookcase where Jaime kept a lot of mementos. She preempted him asking what she was doing by pointing to a trophy. “You were a boxer?” 

He nodded. “Almost went pro.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

He offered a tight smile. The truth was a run-in with the law got in the way; he took responsibility for a drunk driving incident when Cersei had in fact been behind the wheel. “My family needed me,” he said. 

Brienne scanned the shelves. She needed to know more about his family, about his life in general. She needed to collect the names of people she should talk to about Jaime. “Are any of these women your girlfriend?” she asked, scanning the photos. 

“No,” he said. “I don’t have a girlfriend. No wife either, if that was your next question.” He saw the blush again – that time a light shade of pink mottled her face. 

“This is your nephew?” Brienne asked, pointing to a small photo of Jaime and a blond boy seated in front of a Christmas tree. 

He knew what she was doing. “Ms. Tarth, I apologize, but I have some business I need to attend to. That call I got? There’s some trouble with the staff of the resort in Salt Shore and I need to get-” 

“Why did you steal a painting when you have all the money in the world?” Brienne asked, her voice firm and her tone angry. 

Jaime exhaled a sharp breath. “I didn’t steal anything.” 

“Is it a sport? Do you get some kind of thrill out of it?” 

“You need to go, Ms. Tarth,” he said, turning and leaving the room. 

She stomped after him. “Did you sell it? Did you want money that didn’t come from your father?” 

“I’m done talking to you.” He walked toward the elevator. 

“Were you behind the scenes or did you take it off the wall yourself?” 

“I don’t know why you insist on accusing me of a crime I did not commit. You’re not a police detective, Ms. Tarth. You can’t arrest me.” 

“No, but I can tell the detectives what I think happened. And they will start to look into-” 

With each word, he drew closer and she shuffled away until her back was against the wall. Jaime wasn’t touching her, but Brienne felt pinned there by the weight of his stare alone. 

“Did Renly tell you to come after me?” he asked. 

She blinked. “Renly?” 

“Did he take a break from sucking dicks to send you here?” he asked, and as Brienne gasped, Jaime immediately regretted the crass words. 

“How dare you,” she whispered. “Renly is my friend but he is not my boss. He has nothing to do with this.” She gave his chest a shove and walked to the elevator, furiously pressing the button on the wall. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re a devious man, Jaime Lannister.” The door opened and she stepped inside. “You will not get away with this,” she said as the doors sealed shut. 

Jaime, alone in the sudden quiet, raked his fingers through his hair. He paced the small hallway. He couldn’t let her ruin everything. Storming toward the nearest phone, Jaime picked it up and dialed. After two rings, the call was answered and he told Bronn, “I need you to do something for me.” 

* 

Brienne slammed the door to her hotel room. She went right to the phone and dialed Davos, realizing after several rings that he wouldn’t be at the office that late. She cursed and fished through her belongings for the small notebook that contained his home phone number. She dialed and when he answered on the fourth ring she said, “I know Jaime Lannister had something to do with it.” 

There was a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh. “Brienne,” Davos said, “the detectives cleared the museum. It’s in their hands now.” 

Her mouth dropped open. She was shocked and speechless. 

“There is nothing more for you to do.” 

“You’re the one,” Brienne said, “who told me it was too much money not to dig deep.” 

Davos sighed again. “There’s nothing more to dig through.” 

“I don’t believe that. I think Jaime Lannister might be connected to someone on the inside. I found a piece of paper in the trash with-” 

“Consider the claim complete and come home.” 

Brienne shook her head. “Someone got to you, didn’t they?” she asked, believing he must have been pressured into changing his tune. The theft of a piece of art worth millions of dollars was not a claim that only needed two days of research. 

“Come home, Brienne.” 

“There’s more work to be done,” she told him before hanging up. 

Her breath ragged – enraged – she removed the piece of paper from her pocket and set it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles. Brienne retrieved her list of museum staff and scanned the names, finding two with the initials S.C. One was a female – Sera Canton – and the other a man named Sandor Clegane. 

The phone number on the scrap of paper did not match the one listed for Clegane. Brienne dialed the one from Jaime’s office but it was out of service. 

* 

The cab pulled up to the curb across from Jaime’s building. The driver gave Brienne the total amount of her fare and she replied, “I’m not getting out yet.” 

“Where are we going?” the driver asked. 

“Nowhere. I’m going to pay you to stay parked here for... as long as I need to be here.” 

He began to run the meter again while Brienne leaned close to the window. She was relieved when only a few minutes passed before Jaime emerged onto the sidewalk. He was holding a suitcase and she realized a car with tinted windows had been parked there waiting for him. 

Brienne watched as a man loaded the suitcase into the trunk of the car. A young woman with long, golden hair bounded out onto the sidewalk, carrying something Brienne couldn’t make out. The young woman – no more than eighteen years old – handed the object to Jaime before the two of them shared a warm embrace. As Jaime climbed into the back of the car, the young woman went back into the building. 

“Follow that car,” Brienne instructed. 

* 

She lost track of Jaime when the car he was riding in gained entrance to a private terminal at the airport. Brienne paid her driver, grabbed her only piece of luggage, and took off for the main entrance. She figured that unless he’d been lying about the nature of the phone call he received the previous night, he had to be headed to Salt Shore. 

Brienne waited impatiently in line. When it was her turn, she told the man behind the counter, “I need to be on the next flight to Salt Shore.” 

He typed something on his computer and said, “That would be Thursday at seven-” 

“I can’t wait that long.” 

The man typed some more. “I can get you to Lemonwood but the flight leaves in fifteen minutes.” 

“Yes. Yes, I’ll take it,” she said, gesturing wildly for the man to hurry. 

* 

Brienne was breathless and sweating through her navy suit jacket when she took her seat on the plane. If she hadn’t carried her high heeled shoes, she likely wouldn’t have boarded in time. She had received glares from the flight attendants and other passengers as she barreled down the narrow aisle, fighting for space in the overhead compartment and climbing over two pairs of legs to take her spot by the window. It was only after the plane took off that Brienne finally had a calm moment to dwell on her choice to follow Jaime. 

She was not prone to impulsive decisions, but Brienne knew she was right. She knew he had something to do with the stolen painting. She knew the security officer, Sandor Clegane, was the _S.C._ she had found written on a piece of paper in Jaime’s office. Davos was probably planning to fire her, but he wouldn’t once she proved to know better than the detectives that Jaime Lannister was a criminal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne follows Jaime to the resort he owns in Dorne, but he turns the tables on her. 
> 
> Back in King's Landing, a break in the case of the stolen artwork only makes Brienne more suspicious of Jaime.

The Salt Shore Resort & Spa was the most popular accommodation along the southern coast of Dorne, and when a car dropped Brienne at the entrance she understood why. The air smelled fresh, with notes of clean linen and saltwater and citrus. She saw the Osha sculpture Jaime had mentioned and it was a unique wonder – marble carved to look like an ocean wave suspended in the air. She climbed a round staircase toward the lobby, which looked more like an expensive covered pavilion with no walls. Even at check-in the guests were treated to an unobstructed view of the sand and the Summer Sea. 

Brienne was able to reserve a suite and a steward carried her only piece of luggage. They walked a narrow, stone path that was surrounded by trees and plants and flowers. The lush flora separated each villa, making her feel as though she had her own private island. “Do you have more bags?” the young man asked as they came to a stop at the front door. 

She was distracted by the beauty of the space as the man held the door open for her. The first room had a comfortable seating area and well-stocked bar cart. The windows looked out onto the greenery that surrounded each villa. Brienne ignored the steward, walking further to see that the next room was the kitchen and after that the bedroom and bathroom, the sight of which made Brienne gasp quietly. There were only two walls and a roof. Nothing separated her from the secluded balcony that was an extension of the bedroom – unless she pulled the hidden doors closed – with a table, lounge chairs, and a small, private infinity pool. Even the bath tub was in the open-air space. 

The young man had to repeat his question and Brienne responded, “No, that’s all I have. In fact, is there a place I can buy a few things?” 

He smiled. “Of course. We have everything you need.” 

* 

Jaime and the resort were facing a human resources nightmare after a romance between two employees imploded. He had arrived and been taken right to a room with the corporate lawyer. The minute he exited the building, he began walking in the direction of one of the restaurants to sit down and have a drink. 

The fresh air and liquor were beginning to calm Jaime until his eyes scanned the dining area. He spotted a familiar head of short, flaxen hair and abandoned his drink to hide. He positioned himself behind a tall, potted plant and stared, confirming the hair belonged to Brienne Tarth when she turned around to get the attention of her waiter. 

Jaime took off in the direction of the lobby to find her reservation in the system. He stopped in his office first and called Bronn. “I thought you told Seaworth to reign in the blonde giant?” Jaime whispered, angry, into the receiver. 

“I did,” Bronn insisted, offended by Jaime’s tone. 

“Then why did I just see her sitting at a table in one of my restaurants?” He didn’t let Bronn answer, instead cradling the receiver with enough force that it wobbled off the base and onto the floor. 

* 

Brienne looked at her purchases spread out on the bed – sunglasses, floppy hat, bottle of sunscreen, a bathing suit and sarong. There were other items still in the bags and she dumped them out onto the bed, including a dress. It was long and pinched at the waist. The floral design was far too loud for her tastes, but she had learned the resort’s shops did not carry many items in her preferred shades of black, gray, or navy. 

She changed into the dress and a pair of sandals. Brienne perched the sunglasses atop her head and set out to find Jaime, unaware he was he lurking nearby. Waiting for her. 

* 

The sun was at its cruelest as afternoon gave way to evening. The heat scorched Jaime’s skin as he followed Brienne around the resort at a stealthy distance. He risked losing her to stop and buy a bottle of cold water, which he drank in almost one long gulp. He unbuttoned his short-sleeved shirt, letting it hang open around his bare torso, and found a little relief. 

She took him on a long, winding path around the resort. Brienne looked for him among the guests renting kayaks and catamarans. She looked for him in a sea-side yoga class and even in the small sept tucked away behind a wall of palm trees and fronds. Jaime grinned at her frustration, and as angry as he was with her, he had to admit he was enjoying himself. 

The slit on the side of Brienne’s dress offered him a view of her long, muscled legs. The straps were thin and the neckline low, and the few times he could see her from the front Jaime found himself thinking about using his teeth to loosen the tie holding the fabric closed around her breasts. He noticed that for a woman her size she moved with a certain kind of grace – the way she lifted her arm to push away a frond, how her long, surprisingly delicate fingers picked up a trinket in the gift shop. 

He felt like he was getting to know Brienne as he journeyed behind her. She was polite to everyone, including a man who almost let a door close in her face and a little boy who collided with her legs. She didn’t even turn sour at the realization the boy’s vanilla ice cream had toppled out of the cone and onto her dress; she was inspired to get some of her own. Among all the flavors of ice cream at the stand, she chose mint chocolate swirl. The way she lingered to watch kayaks take off from the dock gave Jaime the impression she had a strong connection to the water and, perhaps, the sport. She hated walking in sandals; every so often she stopped to give her feet a rest or had to prop a foot on a bench to adjust the strap, which gave him a different lovely view of her legs. 

Jaime was distracted, and when she almost caught him, he had to duck down behind a hedge. He wanted Brienne to realize she was the one being tracked, but not yet. 

* 

The sweat on her skin began to dry as the sun sank lower in the sky. Brienne stopped to remove her sandals as she walked onto the beach. She carried them, feeling the warm sand between her toes. The crowd dwindled as most guests departed for dinner at one of the restaurants. She sat down facing the water. She removed her hat and sunglasses, tossing them down in defeat. 

Brienne wasn’t giving up completely, only for the day. She decided her efforts weren’t wasted as she got to watch a beautiful sunset. The sky was painted heavy shades of blue, red, and orange, and the waning light sparkled on the sea. It was the kind of sight she longed to share with another person, and when she daydreamed about such a thing it was Renly seated beside her. 

She closed her eyes and pictured his kind face. She lost herself in the fantasy and was startled when a familiar voice said, “I wondered when you were going to finally sit down. My feet are killing me.” 

Brienne’s eyes snapped open and Jaime Lannister was blocking her view of the sunset. She scrambled to her feet. 

“I had a good laugh when you looked for me at the yoga class,” Jaime told her. 

“What?” 

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. The movement pushed his shirt open wider around his torso and Brienne unconsciously licked her lips over the close proximity to his well-defined abdominal muscles and the dusting of golden hairs along the broad planes of his chest. 

“Oh,” he said, smug, “I’ve been following you all afternoon. You should have bought that mini replica of the Osha sculpture you were eyeing in the gift shop.” 

Brienne clenched her teeth. She hated how satisfied Jaime was with himself. As much as she wanted to prod him and throw the name Sandor Clegane at him, she didn’t want to feed his sense of victory at turning the tables. She turned to leave but he reached out, grabbing her by the arm. She glared at him. 

Jaime locked eyes with a nearby employee and waved the man over. “Bring us each a Lava Flow to number eight,” he said, referring to the wooden pergola several feet behind them. 

She wrenched out of his grasp and asked, "What in the seven hells is a Lava Flow?” 

“The resort’s signature cocktail.” 

Brienne wrinkled her nose. “I’m not drinking anything.” 

“You need to at least have a taste, Brienne. They muddle fresh strawberries with coconut cream,” Jaime told her, punctuating his statement with an indecent moan. 

The offer was tempting; she was thirsty and famished. 

“If you have a drink with me, I’ll answer one question about that godsforsaken painting,” he said. 

She responded with a resigned sigh and bent to pick up her belongings, carrying them toward the pergola. The only seating under the canopy was essentially a narrow bed – a cushion covered in bright blue fabric atop a wooden frame. Brienne hesitated before sitting down. She blushed at the realization the heavy blue drapes tied to the wooden posts were more than a decoration; they could be untied to shroud the pergola in privacy. 

The seat shifted as Jaime sat beside her. They were quiet for a long while, and just as Brienne began to speak the waiter arrived with their drinks – two highball glasses filled with an icy red and white swirl, each garnished with a perfect whole strawberry. She took a sip through the straw and hoped she hid her favorable reaction to the sweet, refreshing drink. “I thought you said you don’t have a girlfriend.” 

Jaime looked at her, eyes narrowed. “I don’t,” he told her. 

“Then who was the young woman hugging you outside your building this morning?” 

He smiled. “My niece, Myrcella.” 

“Oh.” Brienne scooted further away from him. “How do you know Sandor Clegane?” she asked, watching his face for a reaction, subtle or not. 

“He used to work for my family,” he replied without wincing or pausing to recover from the surprise of the question. “He was the head of security. Why do you ask?” 

She bristled at the way he pretended – rather well – not to know Sandor Clegane currently worked for the museum. Brienne plucked the strawberry from the edge of the glass before setting her drink down. “Don’t do that,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Play me for a fool. I have a list of names of every person employed by the museum, from the curators to the line cooks at the restaurant. You know Clegane works security there and so do I.” 

Jaime shook his head. He maneuvered on the cushion, facing her and folding one leg between them on the seat. “I wasn’t aware of that. We’re not exactly friends. I don’t keep tabs on the guy.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes. 

“Should I order food?” Jaime asked. 

“No. When was the last time you saw Clegane?” 

“I said one question about the painting.” 

“It’s part of the same question.” 

He laughed. “No, it’s a new, second question.” 

She looked away. 

“My turn,” he said. “I want to know what you get if you prove I stole the painting, which I did not. A promotion? A cut of the insurance money? What has you so motivated to finger me,” he asked, drawing out the words, “as the culprit?” 

Brienne looked at him sharply. “I’m doing this because it’s my job. Because it’s the right thing to do. And because I know you were involved.” 

He sighed. 

She stared at the horizon, mulling over her next question. Something had been nagging her ever since she and Jaime argued at the elevator to his penthouse. “What you said about Renly...” 

Jaime flinched. “I’m sorry about that. It was a crude thing to say.” 

She nodded in agreement. “But...” She drew in a deep breath. 

Jaime recalled the passionate way Brienne had defended the man. That, coupled with the confused, hurt look on her face, told him she had feelings for Renly and was in the dark about him. “Was there any truth to what I said?” he asked, guessing her question. 

She nodded. 

“I’ve known Renly a long time,” Jaime explained. “We lived in the same house for a while. I saw things. Heard things.” 

She took a bite of the strawberry and then another. “I’m such an idiot,” she said under her breath. 

“We can’t help who we love,” he told her. 

Brienne wondered who Jaime loved as she popped the last of the ripe berry into her mouth. 

“Do you want my strawberry?” he asked. 

She looked at him and shrugged. Nodded. 

Jaime plucked the berry from the rim of the glass. She held out her hand but he reached up toward her mouth, gently pressing the fruit to her lips. Brienne reflexively opened her mouth just enough to take the narrow tip of the berry between her lips, biting into it. She lifted her hand to take what remained from him, their fingers brushing. 

He felt his blood rush and his pulse quicken. Jaime stood up before his body could react. He’d intended to seduce her into believing his innocence, but he was the one getting turned on. “I’d love to talk more, but I’m tired from all the walking. So, I’ll say goodnight, Brienne.” 

She couldn’t find her voice to respond. 

Jaime took a drink from his glass before asking, “Do you want to follow me to my villa?” 

Brienne swallowed against the lump in her throat and shook her head. 

He shrugged. “Goodnight, Brienne,” Jaime said, turning around, his shirt billowing in the slight breeze as he walked away. 

* 

Sleeping on the bed at Salt Shore Resort & Spa was like sleeping on a thick, supportive cloud. Brienne had only ever slept past nine o’clock once in her life – when she was twelve and had spent the night watching a baseball game with her father that went into extra innings – but when she woke to the buzzing of the villa’s doorbell, the clock told her it was a quarter to ten. 

Brienne cursed and kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed. She was in enough of a haze not to be concerned with her state of undress – she had purchased cotton shorts and a tank top from the hotel – and hurried through each room to the front door. She looked through the small circle of glass and didn’t see anyone standing outside. She turned the lock and opened the door, seeing only the flora and a clear blue sky. 

She heaved a sigh, annoyed, and closed the door. When Brienne turned around, she gasped and clutched a hand to her chest. 

Jaime Lannister was standing in the doorway holding a small white, paper bag in one hand and a sleek, stainless steel carafe in the other. He smiled. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brienne asked, feeling naked under his gaze. She folded her arms across her chest. 

“You weren’t answering.” 

“So, you broke in?” 

“I didn’t have to break anything. You're the one who chose to sleep with the doors open,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the lack of a secure wall between the bedroom and the deck. 

She couldn’t argue with that. Under any other circumstance, Brienne would never go to sleep without every possible entrance being locked. But she was bewitched into carelessness by the sweet breeze and the second Lava Flow she had ordered after Jaime left her alone on the beach. “Regardless,” she snapped, leaving it at that. 

“I thought instead of us following each other around in circles I’d just bring you breakfast. The bakery makes to-die-for croissants.” Jaime moved further into the kitchen, setting what he’d brought on the table and fetching two mugs from a cabinet. 

“Does this mean you’re ready to confess about your role in stealing the painting?” 

He laughed. “I don’t have anything to confess because I didn’t steal the painting.” He poured piping hot coffee into each mug. “I’m here because I’m leaving Dorne later today. I didn’t want you to waste your time looking for me.” 

“How considerate,” Brienne said. 

Jaime smiled. He opened the white paper bag and the scent of freshly baked croissants filled the room. He took plates from the cabinet and set a croissant on each one. 

She sat down, reluctantly, only because the pastry appeared to be filled with fruit and looked divine. She took a bite and closed her eyes, satisfied by the way the outside flaked and the inside was soft and warm. Brienne saw that some of the filling had seeped onto her plate and Jaime watched as she picked it up on her fingertip and licked her skin clean. “Mmm,” she murmured. 

He cleared his throat. “Apricot.” 

She nodded, wondering if he’d known somehow that it was her favorite fruit. 

“I comped you another night in the villa,” Jaime said as he opened the fridge, reaching for the cream. 

“I’m not staying here.” 

He set the saucer on the table. “You spent the entire day looking for me. There is so much to see and do. You could go on a hike. Take a mud bath. Have a massage without leaving your room.” 

“I don’t like the idea of a stranger coming in here to touch me,” Brienne said. 

Jaime stifled a laugh. The mirth on his face faded to something else – something heavier that made her squirm in her seat. “It looks like you could use a massage, Brienne. I can see the tension in your shoulders.” 

She glanced down at her right shoulder. “No, you can’t.” 

He circled around the table, rubbing his palms together to generate heat, and stood behind her. “Yes, I can,” he said, resting his hands over the slight straps of her top. 

“I said I didn’t want a stranger coming in here and touching me.” 

She squirmed but he applied pressure as he bent forward and whispered, “I’m not a stranger anymore.” 

Brienne shivered. His breath was warm against the shell of her ear and the weight of his touch was calming and thrilling all at once. She closed her eyes, lost in the feel of his thumbs drawing hard circles against the tension in her neck. She heard herself moan in pleasure, felt a hot blush crawl along her chest and face, and finally pushed her chair back to break the contact. 

Jaime stumbled back as she stood. 

She looked at him and said, “Don’t do that again.” 

“Stop following me,” he said. 

Brienne folded her arms, reaching one hand up to clasp her shoulder – hiding the place where his skin had burned hers. “I’m good at my job, Mr. Lannister,” she said. 

Jaime realized he was wounded by her formality. He had been enjoying their rapport, but he was reminded his life and his family’s lives were not a game. Brienne Tarth was a serious threat to something important to him, and if he hadn’t succeeded in getting her to back off, he was going to have to work harder at it. 

He walked toward her and she noticed his eyes had darkened. Her teeth pinched her bottom lip. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, Ms. Tarth. Stay away,” Jaime told her firmly before he turned and marched to the front door. 

* 

Her flight to King’s Landing was delayed by, of all things, the heavy rainfall in the Stormlands. Brienne waited for a payphone and dialed the office, asking the secretary to direct her to Renly. 

He answered with a jovial, “Brienne! Hello!” 

“Hi, Renly. I nee-” 

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, his tone playful and teasing. “Davos is piiiiissed. I love it.” 

She sighed. “Can you do something for me?” 

He calmed down when he finally noticed the urgency in her voice. “Whatever you need, Tarth.” 

She filled him in on Sandor Clegane and the phone number she found written down in Jaime’s office. “I need a tangible connection between him and Lannister in the month before the painting was stolen.” 

Renly agreed, and when she began to rush off the phone he said, “Hey, Brienne. Did Jaime do something to you? Is that why you’re in such hot pursuit?” 

“What? No. I’m just doing my job.” 

He was smiling, and she could almost hear it over the phone. “Wait. I think it’s that you _want_ him to do something to you.” 

“Renly.” 

“I get it. You _should_ pursue him. Jaime Lannister is a good-looking man, Brienne. No one would blame you if you mixed business with pleasure.” 

She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Goodbye, Renly,” she said, shaking her head as she hung up the phone. 

Brienne dragged her suitcase across the crowded walkway to her gate. She sat down in front of the window to wait. She felt the tension in her neck and shoulders, and even her jaw, that Jaime had claimed she needed massaged away. But in that moment, it wasn’t Jaime that bothered her. It was Renly. 

The way he encouraged her, the way he happily pushed her to be unprofessional with Jaime, was the thing that finally convinced her Renly was never going to reciprocate her feelings. Whether or not he was gay as Jaime implied, he was more than okay with Bienne being intimate with another man. She tapped her foot on the floor, restless to get back to King’s Landing and back to work. She wouldn’t get a massage, but she needed something to help her relax. 

First, she had another call to make. 

Brienne walked back to the phones. She searched her date book for the number of one of the detectives assigned to the case, and when Detective Mormont answered after she dialed a third time, she told him her suspicions about Sandor Clegane. Mormont thought it was enough to go to the judge for a warrant, and that alone made her neck less stiff. 

* 

_Eight_ was only open for another hour when Jaime walked through the doors. He’d called Bronn before his plane landed, asking him to meet there to spar, but of course the other man was late. He approached the only staff member on shift and said, “I want to close a little early.” 

The young man shrugged. “Okay. There’s only a couple people here.” 

Jaime dismissed the employee and followed the sound of punches and kicks and grunts. He saw a middle-aged man jumping rope and pointed to the clock on the wall as he said, “Closing early.” Jaime kept walking and cursed at what he saw. “Brienne fucking Tarth.” 

She had been facing away from him, punching a bag in the shape of a torso. When she turned around, he saw the shine of sweat on her skin and the red burn of exertion in her cheeks. Jaime was distracted from berating her by the clothing she wore – a simple black sports bra and a pair of men’s shorts with the waistband rolled down to rest low and tight around her hips. 

“Oh. Hi,” she said, breathing hard. 

“Don’t ‘oh, hi’ me,” Jaime retorted. “The last thing I said to you was ‘stay away’ and this is where I find you?” 

“I didn’t know you would be here!” 

His eyes widened. “You expect me to believe you don’t know I own this place?” He thought about the hidden safe in his office and panicked, afraid she’d already found it and broken in. He didn’t let the concern show. 

“I know you own it, but that certainly didn’t mean you would be here. You own a lot of things and places, Mr. Lannister. How would I have ever guessed you’d be in this one?” 

He folded his arms. “But why here? Why this gym?” 

“I wanted to punch something,” she told him with a grin. 

He walked closer to her. “Just the fact that you’re in King’s Landing...” Jaime released a breath and let his frustrated cede to flirtation. “I’m beginning to think investigating me is all a ruse.” 

“Excuse me?” 

His eyes drifted downward from her face, grazing across her breasts and her taut stomach. “I think you’re here because you like me,” he said, his voice low, taking another step closer. If she was going to invade his space again, he was going to work his charm. 

Brienne raised her gloved hands into a defensive stance, stopping his advancement. “You’re as delusional as you are corrupt,” she said, removing one glove and letting in drop onto the floor with the other following in its wake. She stomped past Jaime and nearly collided with Bronn as he rounded the corner. She groaned, giving him a slight shove, and disappeared from their view. 

“That’s Tarth, right?” Bronn asked. 

Jaime nodded. 

“Have you fucked her yet?” 

“For gods’ sake, Bronn. I told you. She’s not my type.” 

“You can keep saying that but it won’t make it true.” 

* 

Brienne had not slept well, and in the morning, she showered and dressed before deciding there was no point in leaving her hotel room. Jaime was obviously only going to antagonize her and tease her. She needed something concrete before she made her next move. 

She fell back onto the bed, fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were heavy, and she was a breath away from falling asleep when her phone rang. Brienne reached over to pick up the receiver and before she could say a word, Renly told her, “I have an address for you.” 

Brienne blinked her bleary eyes. “Address?” 

“Sandor Clegane’s apartment.” 

She perked up and began searching for a pen and paper. “Okay, I’m ready,” she told him, and wrote what he said down in big, bold numbers and letters. 

* 

The cab had to drop Brienne off a block away from Clegane’s building. There were police cars blocking the driver from going any further, and when she walked the rest of the way her suspicions were confirmed – the police were there for Clegane. 

She waited until she saw Detective Mormont and got his attention. He waved her over and said, “Ms. Tarth, your information was good. Better than good.” 

At that moment Brienne saw two people carefully maneuvering a large object, covered in a tarp, out the door. “Is that the...” 

“The Selmy, yes,” the detective confirmed. “Clegane had it. We almost didn’t find it. He put up a false wall in the bedroom closet.” 

Brienne smiled broadly. “What does this mean for Lannister?” 

“Jaime Lannister?” 

She rolled her eyes. _Of course_. “Yes, Jaime.” 

The man shrugged. “Nothing right now. We still don’t have evidence they worked together on this.” 

“You will,” she said. “Where is Clegane?” 

“Nowhere to be found,” Mormont told her. 

Brienne heaved a sigh. _Jaime fucking Lannister._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne makes a discovery about the painting found in Sandor Clegane's apartment. Jaime makes an attempt to convince Brienne to leave him and his family out of her investigation. Renly arrives to offer his advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about detecting fake art I learned from a Google search.

“Can you repeat that?” Brienne asked into the phone. 

Catelyn Stark said, “The Selmy is being returned to the museum. We’re having a small gathering to unveil it tomorrow. I thought you might like to come.” 

“How can the painting be returned now?” Brienne asked. It had only been a matter of days since it had been removed from Sandor Clegane’s apartment, and the man was still evading capture. “It’s evidence!” 

Catelyn’s sigh rattled across the phone. “You would have to ask the police that, Ms. Tarth. Shall I mark you down?” 

She was silent for a stretch before saying, “Yes.” 

“Will you be bringing anyone?” 

Brienne let go of a quick laugh and said, “No. Just me.” 

* 

Blackwater Rush was a longstanding staple in King’s Landing – a combination of the elegance of fine dining and the comfort of a hole-in-the-wall bar. Its biggest draw was the seating along the balcony that overlooked the bay. Jaime was pleased when Bronn called and gave him Blackwater Rush as Brienne’s current location; he was in the mood for a decent steak and cold ale and a heaping serving of sexual tension. 

He loosened the button that held the collar of his shirt tight around his neck, and then popped another two. Jaime leaned close to the window, checking his reflection, and combed his fingers through his hair before he entered the restaurant. 

The opening of the door let out a rush of sound and smells. He bypassed the hostess and his eyes searched the dimly lit dining room. Coming up empty, he moved onto the other side where the bar area was even darker. Brienne was easy to find though; her hair and luminous skin were like a bright beacon and he followed that all the way to her seat in a small booth. 

As he closed in on her, Jaime could see that she looked pensive. She was stirring a small straw around her cocktail glass in a daze. “You should be celebrating,” he said as he helped himself to the seat across from her. 

Brienne looked surprised by his presence for only a fraction of a second before she recognized it was inevitable one of them was going to track the other down. “Why is that?” 

“The painting. The Selmy was found. You were right about Clegane.” 

She looked at him, her lips pinched into a sneer. “What is there to celebrate about that? He’s on the run. And there’s no proof he was working alone.” 

“But there’s no proof he _wasn’t_ ,” Jaime added. “Let me buy you a glass of champagne. I’m sure your boss will be pl-” 

Brienne rolled her eyes as she stood up, leaving her drink behind. 

Jaime got up and, when he saw that she had gone onto the balcony, stopped at the bar. A moment later he walked outside carrying two champagne flutes and joined Brienne where she stood, leaning against the railing to look out at the moon’s reflection on the bay. “Please,” he said, holding out one of the glasses. 

She huffed her disapproval before taking the drink from him. “You’re only trying to convince me this is a victory so I’ll stop pursuing you.” 

Jaime slid closer until their arms pressed together. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

She scoffed and took a generous sip of the champagne. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“Yeah? What am I doing?” 

She rotated her hips enough to be able to look at him. “You planted the painting at Clegane’s and financed his escape when you knew I was onto the two of you. No one will ever see him again and if you can convince me that’s the end of the story, I’ll go away.” 

“Why would I have stolen the Selmy only to plant it in Clegane’s apartment?” 

She bristled. “I don’t know, but,” she took another long drink, “you did. And you’re trying to charm me into thinking that’s all there is.” 

“Charm you?” 

Her eyes flitted down to his crisply laundered and ironed shirt and back to his finely chiseled face. “You know you’re a good-looking man and-” 

“I am?” 

“And you look at me and see a plain woman who spent years pining for a man that is only attracted to other men, and you imagine that if you simply look into my eyes and caress my cheek, I’ll melt into a puddle of goo and leave King’s Landing feeling grateful for your attention.” 

Jaime waited to be certain she had said all she needed to say. She was nearly breathless and he was hit by the realization that while he did want her to stop suspecting him of a crime, the last thing he wanted was for Brienne to leave him alone. He was inexplicably attracted to her, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. He felt pulled toward her striking blue eyes as much as her kindness and honor. He was enjoying the chase. “First of all,” Jaime said softly, “I don’t think you’re plain. Far from it.” He turned to face her. His eyes locked on hers. “And if I touch you,” he said, reaching up to press the back of his hand to her cheek, “it will be because I want to.” He dragged his knuckles along her jawline and cupped her chin. 

Brienne’s lips parted with a tremble of breath. 

He stroked the pad of his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip. He leaned forward and felt a charge of electricity as his lips brushed hers. Jaime was disappointed when he suddenly felt her fist pushing against his chest as she backed away. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“I have to go,” she told him, pushing the almost empty champagne flute into his chest. 

He covered her hand with his, trying to keep her there, but she slid out from beneath his palm and took off in a rush. 

* 

Brienne jogged on the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab. When she had no luck, she began to run until she reached the campus of the Crownlands Museum of Fine Art. She skidded to a stop and bent at the waist, hands propped on her knees, heaving for an easy breath. When she had recovered enough, she took off running again until she reached the museum’s entrance. 

“Ma’am,” a guard said, “we’re closing in two minutes.” 

“I don’t care,” she said, her feet pounding on the polished floor. 

Catelyn Stark heard the noise and leaned out from a doorway. “Ms. Tarth?” 

Brienne ran past her and backtracked. “I need to see the Selmy. It’s here, right?” 

“Well, yes. But-” 

“Please,” Brienne said. “Where is it?” 

Catelyn was reluctant but led Brienne down the hallway to a locked gate. She used a key to open the lock, pushing the gate apart to reveal the wing that housed the Selmy. The spot on the wall where it had been was empty, Jaime’s donated Aemon gone. The Selmy was lying flat on a palette, zipped inside a heavy, protective tarp. 

“Can you take it out?” Brienne asked. 

Catelyn gawked at her. “Ms. Tarth, I don’t-” 

“Please.” 

Catelyn did as she asked, tugging the zipper along three sides and folding it over to reveal the entire painting. 

Brienne got close to it, and by then several others had gathered in the wing. “Was this authenticated?” 

“Not yet,” Catelyn said. “It only arrived an hour ago.” 

Brienne bent down, smelling the painting. She drew odd looks, and Catelyn helpfully narrated what she was doing for the small audience. “Reproductions often hold the smell of turpentine for months. Even years,” Catelyn explained. 

Brienne couldn’t detect any odors, but the person responsible for the painting may have been smart enough not to use oil to clean the brushes. She stood with her hands on her hips. One of the security guards had a flashlight and she asked to borrow it. She used it to inspect the brushstrokes, looking for an errant bristle stuck in the paint or an obvious misstep. 

“I might be able to bring the UV lamp up,” someone offered. 

“Yes, please,” Brienne said, and everyone waited in near silence until the man returned with a heavy, futuristic lamp on a cart. 

The man plugged it in and explained that under the ultraviolet lights, the original work would shine brighter than retouched or restored areas. Brienne held her breath as he flipped a switch and a second person helped him hold the heavy lamp over the painting. She heard whispers behind her and asked, “What? What is it doing?” 

Catelyn spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s barely doing anything.” 

“Does that mean...” Brienne wanted to know. 

“It means it’s not the real painting,” Catelyn confirmed. 

Brienne’s mouth contorted into a smile, then a disappointed frown, and settled somewhere in between. 

* 

It was the dawn of a new day, but Brienne was still wearing her clothes from the previous night. She had gone from the museum to her hotel room, trying to reach Davos and then Renly. She talked to the detectives, but they didn’t want to listen, citing a closed case. She paced the floor of her room and then the hallway outside it until there was finally enough light in the sky for her to consider it morning. 

Brienne arrived at Jaime’s building and took advantage of the change in shifts between the doormen. She rode the elevator to the penthouse and gave Myrcella Lannister a fright. The young woman was holding a heavy vase, intending to strike the intruder she had heard. 

“I’m your uncle’s friend,” Brienne said in her defense, and it was then she realized something. She wanted to be proved wrong. She had started out convinced Jaime was guilty, and while she still believed it to be true, she no longer _wanted_ it to be true. “I’m Brienne.” 

“Hi. I’m Myrcella.” 

Brienne smiled. “I apologize, Myrcella. I need to see your uncle.” As the girl settled the vase back on the table, Brienne noticed a small smear of what looked like gold paint on the side of her hand, and her nail beds were stained red. 

“He’s not here,” the girl told her. 

“Cella?” a child’s quiet voice whispered from around the corner. 

Brienne watched as a blond-haired boy shuffled his feet until he was standing partly behind Myrcella. She recognized the child from one of Jaime’s framed photographs. 

“Tommen, you’re up early,” the girl remarked, smiling. 

“This is your little brother?” Brienne asked, and she recalled the child seen on the security camera immediately following the theft. She wondered if Jaime was really the kind of man who would involve his young nephew in the theft of the painting. 

Myrcella nodded. She offered a tight smile, and it hit Brienne that the girl was probably impatient for the tall stranger to leave. Helpfully, the pager she wore clipped over the waistband of her pants beeped. She looked at the number and recognized it as Detective Mormont’s. 

“Do you mind if I use the phone and then I’ll be out of your hair?” Brienne asked. 

The girl shrugged. “Sure.” 

Brienne dialed the number that had called her and the detective relayed that since the painting in the museum was a fake, they were reopening the investigation. “We have someone on Lannister,” he said. 

“Oh? Any updates there?” 

“He went to his gym and came out a few minutes later. He’s at a warehouse on King’s Road now. Seems like a fine place to hide a painting. It’s going to take us a while to get a search warrant.” 

Brienne looked at Myrcella and Tommen. She knew their mother was gone and their father was a louse. Their oldest brother was in prison. She recalled the tenderness between Jaime and his niece, and all of the photographs he kept of his family, and imagined Uncle Jaime was the strongest presence in their lives. She drew in a shaky breath, deciding she needed to get to Jaime before the police did. “What’s the address?” she asked. 

* 

The warehouse the detective had referred to was a nondescript brick building. If it hadn’t been for the large, white street numbers plastered above the door, Brienne wouldn’t have known she had the right location; there was no signage, no name to be found. She tried the doorknob but it was locked. She went to the window, but they were tinted enough that she could only see her reflection in the surface. 

Brienne walked around the building, trying a side door to no avail. She made her way to the back and was surprised to see that door propped open. She approached carefully, poking her head around the doorframe before crossing inside. She saw that the whole of the building was a wide space with high ceilings, reminiscent of a school gymnasium. There was nothing much inside to speak of, only a lot of old but expensive looking furniture. Boxes were stacked one on top of the other, but they were too small to contain the Selmy. 

“Did you follow me?” 

She flinched at the sound of Jaime’s voice behind her, and she flinched again when the heavy door slammed shut. Brienne slowly turned around to look at him. Rather than answer his question she said, “The painting is a fake.” 

He mouthed, “Wow,” shaking his head. “If that’s true I don’t know anything ab-” 

She rushed toward him. “Tell me why you did it. I can... I can help. If you can explain, I can...” 

“There’s nothing to explain.” 

“Where is it?” she asked. “Where is the real Selmy?” 

Jaime tilted his head back, groaning. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met. I told you to let this go.” 

She thought about the paint on Myrcella’s hands and the stains around her fingernails. _Someone_ had reproduced _Lion’s Rock_ , and the young woman appeared to have recently used paint that matched its recognizable palette of red and gold. “Is it because of your niece? Are you trying to protect her?” 

He glared at her for a long, heavy moment. “Don’t drag Myrcella into this.” 

“I’m not the only one who is on to you, Jaime,” she said. She lifted her hand, wanting to grab him by the arms and shake some sense into him. She recalled the night before, when his touch ignited a pool of heat in her stomach. She wished she had the courage to touch him and the magnetism to draw the truth out of him. 

“Stop,” Jaime said softly. He took hold of her hands. “Stop digging for something you won’t find. Stop worrying about right and wrong.” He lifted her hands to rest against his chest. “Stop thinking and start feeling, Brienne. Do I feel like a thief? Do I feel like a bad man?” 

Every time Brienne thought she was going to catch Jaime, she instead found herself trapped beneath _his_ net. He was warm and solid and his heart thundered against her palms. Being that close to him was like being intoxicated – lightheaded and unbalanced. But never uninhibited. She couldn’t let herself give in to the desire to taste his lips and feel his strong arms wrapped around her. She couldn’t trust that he was genuinely attracted to her; the more likely story was that everything was a ruse designed to take the suspicion off him, or that Jaime enjoyed seducing a woman like her for sport the same way he might have liked to steal paintings just because he could. 

Jaime reached up to frame her face with his hands. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering but not asking any more of Brienne. He fell away from her and moved toward the door. Holding his arms out, gesturing at the width of the warehouse, he said, “I’m leaving but you’re free to look around. I promise you won’t find what you’re looking for, but you can try.” He turned, opening the door and walking out into the sunlight. 

* 

Brienne had been dodging calls from Davos. When the front desk clerk at the hotel called her over and said a man who identified himself as a coworker from Westeros Mutual was waiting for her by the bar, she was certain her boss had finally decided to show up and fire her face to face. 

Taking a deep breath, Brienne straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She walked to the hotel bar with her head held high, but her stiff posture relaxed when she saw it wasn’t Davos who had come to see her. “Renly?” 

He stood from his seat at a small table. He greeted her with a warm smile and said, “How are you doing?” 

“Did Davos send you?” 

Renly nodded. “He’s not mad at you. Annoyed maybe, but not mad.” 

“I’m only doing the job he sent me here to do, Renly,” she insisted. “I think the Lannisters threatened him into closing the claim. But if I had listened and gone home, no one would have found the Clegane connection and-” 

“You don’t have to convince me, Brienne,” he told her. “Although I am dying to hear why you’re so fucking passionate about this case.” His eyes glanced around the bar. “Can we go to your room and talk?” 

She agreed and they headed to her room where Renly ordered food and cocktails. He was gracious, giving her time to shower and dress comfortably and to briefly talk about something other than the case. 

Soon enough though, he pushed his plate of onion rings aside and asked, “What is it about his case that has you so invested?” 

Brienne closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She stood up, pacing in front of the bed where Renly sat, and finally said, “The minute I read that Jaime Lannister had donated a painting to take the missing Selmy’s place, I knew he was involved in the theft. He’d orchestrated it or paid someone to do it or had taken it off the wall himself. He’s famous for using his name and money to get out of unfavorable situations. I hate people like him. I wanted to be the person who finally proved that men like Jaime Lannister don’t live inside a protective bubble. But...” 

“But?” Renly prodded. 

She sighed and plopped down onto the edge of the bed. “But I think there’s more to it than that.” 

“Like what? Why would he steal that painting? I know the lions have significance to his family, but why couldn’t he just frame a print and hang it above the couch?” 

She shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But there’s something more going on. There’s more to Jaime. He seems afraid. He has a niece, and I think she has something to do with painting the fake. He could be protecting her.” 

Renly grinned. 

“What?” she asked. 

“You may hate people _like_ him but you certainly don’t hate _him_. You’re making excuses for him now.” 

She blushed and buried her inflamed face in her hands. 

Renly scooted closer to her. He took hold of her wrists and pried her hands away. 

“At some point I realized I don’t want him to be guilty. I think because... because...” 

“Because you want to feel good about liking him? Because you don’t think you, the honorable Brienne Tarth, could have feelings for a man who could steal a painting from a museum?” 

She nodded. “I’ve been trying to get him to tell me the truth. He had _something_ to do with it, but every time I think he’ll open up to me, he turns the tables and I start talking about myself. He’s got this way of...” 

“What has he done, Brienne?” Renly asked, almost giddy. 

She blushed again. 

“Brienne!” 

“Nothing, really. He just gets so close and he kissed me, but it wasn’t really a kiss.” 

Renly hopped up from the bed. “He likes you.” 

She shook her head. 

“Everything you’re telling me says he does, sweetheart.” 

“He doesn't. It's just an act. I’m sure he thinks he can seduce me into looking the other way.” 

“So, seduce him into confessing what his connection is to this theft.” 

Brienne laughed. “Yeah, right.” 

“What? Why is that laughable?” 

She gestured to her face and down, waving her hands in front of her chest. 

Renly rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me, Brienne? You’re beautiful. You have amazing blue-” 

“Don’t talk about my eyes. My eyes are the one thing everyone points to when they’re trying to convince me I’m beautiful.” 

“That’s not all you have going for you. Have you seen your legs? And your fucking skin! Gods, Brienne. Your skin is like marble. Your lips were made to be kissed. If I wasn’t into men I would-” He winced and sealed his lips together. 

Brienne stood up. “It’s okay, Renly.” 

“You know?” 

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. But it’s okay. And I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.” 

He exhaled a long, loud breath. “This isn’t about me. This is about convincing you that Jaime Lannister would happily climb for a kiss and that if you like him, you deserve to have some fun.” 

She tilted her head back, groaning at the ceiling. 

“What now?” he asked with a laugh. 

“It’s not that simple,” Brienne said. “I’ve never... I’m not... I mean, I’ve dated before and it’s not that I haven’t done _anything_ but I’ve never done, you know,...” 

“You’re a virgin?” 

She nodded. “And I can guarantee you Jaime Lannister is not.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Renly said softly. His eyes searched for the room service menu and he said, “This conversation requires another plate of fried food and more wine.”

*

Every attempt Jaime made to lure Brienne into believing his innocence had backfired on him. He couldn't stop thinking about how warm and soft and plump her lips had been for the brief moment he touched his own to the corner of her mouth. He still fantasized about Dorne and using his teeth to untie the knot holding her dress closed at her chest and ravishing her on the beach. There was something about Brienne that riled him and compelled him to continue the chase even though it was in his best interest if she left him alone. 

“Bronn,” he said into the phone, “I need to get to Bear Island.” 

“I’ll call the pilot and-” 

Jaime interrupted the other man to say, “And I want to fly commercial.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I need Brienne Tarth to follow me there.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne follows Jaime to Bear Island. Things get heated after a romantic dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly descriptions of a fancy resort, clothing, and food. I'm living vicariously through these two characters. But it's all a set-up for some important scenes in the next chapter.

Brienne had taken Renly’s advice and made a trip to the nearest department store, but the dressing room did not accommodate her height very well. The bottom of the door exposed her from the knees down and her head towered over the top. She wasn’t planning to take all of her clothes off, but the idea that anyone could see her face did not help her comfort level. 

She had selected a number of tops and casual dresses and an assortment of bras that she tried on over her T-shirt. Renly had insisted that if Brienne wore sexy underwear, she would feel sexy. He had promised confidence would ooze from every pore. She doubted him very much but nevertheless selected a few pairs of bikini panties and thongs with touches of lace and one item that she didn’t think even qualified as any kind of undergarment for how slight and sheer it was; an entire triangle of material was missing from the back. She settled on two bras – one that was made entirely of sheer black fabric, and while the other was her usual beige color, it was a slight amount of silk with the closure in the front. 

Renly’s other piece of advice had been to stop sleeping in oversized T-shirts. Brienne chose a set of satin shorts and a button-down, long-sleeved shirt along with a knit chemise that had a pattern of small flowers along the V-neckline. 

She felt scandalous making the purchases and did her best to hide the bags when she returned to the hotel. Brienne finally exhaled when she made it to her room, but still on edge, she gasped when the phone rang. 

“Hello?” she answered, winded. 

“Hello, Ms. Tarth.” 

She recognized the voice. “Detective Mormont, how are you?” 

“Good, good. Listen,” he said, “the tail we put on Lannister reported back that he purchased a first-class ticket to Bear Island. Leaving at five o’clock tonight.” 

“That’s odd,” Brienne said. “Why wouldn’t he be taking his private jet?” 

“No idea. He bought a return flight for three days later. Not likely he’s transporting any artwork but you wanted to be kept in the loop.” 

Brienne sat on the edge of the bed. “He could be going to meet with someone about the painting.” 

“Could be. But it’s not enough for us to spend money and manpower to follow him.” 

She craned her neck to look at the shopping bags on the bed and sighed heavily. 

* 

Jaime traveled light with only one suitcase and a folded newspaper. Brienne watched him from afar, knowing he was up to something by flying commercial. Perhaps he needed a well-documented alibi? 

She sat in her window seat after take-off, watching the clouds. A flight attendant approached and Brienne incorrectly guessed the woman was offering a snack or beverage. “Ma’am, your presence is requested in first class,” the attendant told her, sounding oddly baffled by her own statement. 

“Excuse me?” Brienne asked. 

The woman shrugged; she didn’t understand either. “I think you’ll want to take a peek behind the curtain. I know I wouldn’t pass up the invitation.” 

Brienne knew that Jaime Lannister had spotted her. She rolled her eyes, confusing the attendant who clearly found Jaime to be dashing and would never turn down an invitation from him, and thought Brienne should be grateful that a woman like her had received it. “Alright,” Brienne groaned, standing as much as she could in the cramped space and climbing over the legs of her seatmates. 

She stomped down the aisle and whipped the curtain aside. There were not many passengers and the back of Jaime’s head was easily identifiable; no one else came close to his lustrous, golden locks. “Would you believe me if I told you I just happened to decide on a last-minute vacation to Bear Island?” she asked as she approached his seat. 

Jaime lifted his gaze and grinned. “Not one bit.” He patted the seat beside him, inviting her to join him. 

She shook her head. “I have a seat.” 

“Does it come with complimentary champagne and filet mignon?” 

Brienne wrinkled her nose. “I doubt airplane filet mignon is anything to brag about.” 

“I guess you’ll never find out,” he said. 

She looked to the side as a couple were given plush blankets and pillows that perfectly fit around the contours of their necks. She looked behind her to see a child being served a decadent hot fudge sundae while his father cut into the filet, and it looked as delicious as it smelled. 

“Change your mind?” Jaime asked. 

“Fine,” she said, but he didn’t attempt to move his legs to give her room to access the empty window seat. She tried scooting through facing forward, but the way he looked at her made Brienne uncomfortable. She turned around, instantly regretting the decision as the backs of her thighs rubbed against his knees and Jaime reached up, hand on her hip, to give her a nudge. 

Jaime got the flight attendant's attention. He held up two fingers and she seemed to already know what that meant, returning a moment later with two flutes of champagne and one blanket tucked under her arm. 

“That’s rude,” Brienne said as the woman walked away and Jaime handed her one of the drinks. “Only one blanket.” 

He grinned and lifted the armrest between their seats. He shook the soft fabric out and draped it across both their laps, earning an eyeroll from Brienne. “You haven’t asked why I’m going to Bear Island,” he said. 

“Because I already know.” 

“How is that possible?” 

She glared at him for a beat before saying, “I know it has something to do with the painting.” 

“The fucking painting,” he murmured under his breath. Jaime shook his head. He took a sip of champagne. “Bear Island is home to a luxury resort with fifteen hundred acres of private ski slopes and hot springs and snow-capped mountains. They’re in need of a new owner and I'm going to buy it.” 

She scoffed. It wasn’t hard to believe he had the funds for such an endeavor, but Brienne doubted it was true. 

* 

The plane skidded across the runway at Winterfell International Airport and, in a disappointment to Jaime, woke Brienne from her slumber. She had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and for the last hour he’d felt her breath warming his skin through the cotton of his shirt. Her hand had come to rest on his thigh, and if he tilted his head, he felt the softness of her hair against his cheek. 

Brienne blinked her heavy eyes, recalibrating after an unplanned snooze. She leaned away from Jaime, embarrassed, but it took her longer to realize her hand was on his leg beneath the blanket. Her touch lingered, feeling the hard muscle beneath her palm, until she suddenly pulled away. She shoved the blanket down to their feet as if she needed to make sure no other parts of her were inadvertently touching him. 

He grinned and stood from his seat to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment. Jaime had already requested Brienne’s bag be brought up from coach, and she seemed annoyed by the thoughtful gesture. 

“This is where I leave you,” Brienne said once they had climbed down the stairs onto the pavement. 

“What’s that?” Jaime asked. 

She spoke louder to say, “I guess this is goodbye. Now that you’ve seen me, you’re not going to let me catch you doing something criminal. I suppose this was all a waste.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jaime said. “Come with me to the resort.” 

Brienne laughed with a snort. 

He smiled. “I’m serious. Have you ever been?” 

She shook her head. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“I don’t ski.” 

“There are hiking paths and wildlife expeditions and a natural hot spring. A suite would cost you in the ballpark of thirty-five hundred a night but you can stay for free.” 

Her eyes widened. She would never be able to afford such a vacation on her own. 

Jaime pointed to a smaller plane idling on the runway. “What do you say, Brienne?” 

* 

They were the only two passengers on the plane and it was the only aircraft at the small airstrip where they landed. A large utility vehicle picked Jaime and Brienne up, crunching through snow as it drove along winding roads toward the resort. At first, she was in such awe of the majestic mountains, tall pine trees, and sleek frozen streams that the lack of people wasn’t noticeable. It wasn’t until they entered the lobby of the resort and a small crew of staff greeted them personally that Brienne realized something was odd. 

“Where are all the other guests?” she asked, noting the quiet and that the neighboring restaurant was empty. Not a single person used the elevators to and from the lobby. 

A woman wearing a maroon pantsuit – the uniform of the employees – narrowed her eyes in confusion at Brienne’s remark. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Lannister,” she said. 

“I’m not his wife,” Brienne corrected her. “We’re not here together.” 

Another odd look of confusion crossed the woman’s face and Jaime clarified, “Ms. Tarth is my guest. She will need her own suite.” 

“Oh. Of course. We’ll just need a few minutes,” the woman said, turning to look at one of the people behind her, snapping her fingers until he scrambled away, “to get a room ready. We were only expecting you.” 

Brienne looked at Jaime sideways, her teeth clenched. 

He looked at her, smiled, and shrugged. 

“Is there anyone else staying here?” Brienne asked the woman. 

“No, Ms. Tarth,” she said with a laugh, as if the answer were obvious. We’ve been closed to the public for two months. We opened especially for Mr. Lannister so-” 

Jaime interrupted, “So I can experience the resort and make a final decision about becoming the new owner.” 

Brienne huffed, folding her arms. 

“She’ll be fine,” Jaime said to the staff. “She can stay with me until her suite is ready.” 

* 

The suite had vaulted ceilings and a wood-burning fireplace in the living room and bedroom. The windows offered a view of the snow-capped mountains and trees. Brienne could smell woodsmoke and frosted musk and spruce. The winter resort had the same luxurious look and feel as the one in Dorne, but it was cozier and more inviting. 

“We’ll notify you when Ms. Tarth’s room is ready,” a young man said as he headed out the door. 

Jaime followed him and offered a generous tip as he whispered, “Take your time.” He closed the door and turned to see Brienne standing by the hearth. “Shall we have a look around?” he asked her. 

She hesitated before nodding. “Sure.” 

* 

The main structure on the land – with the suites, restaurants, spa, and multiple lodges – was two separate stone buildings connected by an elevated walkway. Only certain amenities had been activated for Jaime’s stay, like a coffee shop where Brienne ordered a flat white and a lounge with a pool table where he unsuccessfully challenged her to a match. The only operating restaurant was an opulent space with a panoramic view of the scenery, chandeliers, cathedral ceiling, and a wait staff that wore black vests and bow ties. 

“Ms. Tarth’s room is ready,” a young man announced, and Jaime and Brienne headed back in the direction of the suites. 

Outside the door to her room, Jaime said, “Have dinner with me.” 

Brienne’s shoulders tensed and she paused in the doorway to her suite. Turning to look at him she said, “No. That restaurant is fit for royalty and all I packed is a pair of yoga pants.” 

“Look in the bedroom closet.” 

She narrowed her eyes. 

“Go on, look.” 

Brienne sighed and walked all the way in, letting him follow behind her all the way to the bedroom. She pushed the closet door aside and saw a black cocktail dress hanging from the otherwise empty rack. It looked expensive with not a wrinkle in sight. “Jaime.” 

“I hope I got your measurements right,” he said. 

“Jaime, I-” 

“Almost forgot.” Jaime bounced on his heels turning toward the bed where Brienne noticed a plain white box. He removed the lid and showed her a pair of black satin high-heeled shoes. 

Brienne took several steps closer to him but did not reach for the shoes. “You knew I was going to follow you,” she said. There was not a trace of anger to her voice, only wonder. 

Jaime shrugged. “I didn’t know for sure. I hoped.” 

She swallowed against the lump that suddenly lodged itself in her throat. 

“I’m going to the restaurant at seven o’clock. I hope I see you there,” he said before turning and heading for the door. 

Alone, Brienne removed the dress from the closet. She held it against the front of her body and looked in the full-length mirror. She shuddered and shucked the dress onto the bed, thinking there was no way she could wear such an expensive, revealing garment. Then she cursed and picked it up, smoothing out the material in case she’d marred the perfect fabric. “Damn you, Jaime.” 

* 

Brienne showered, shaved her legs, and stood in the middle of the bedroom wearing only the black thong she had purchased on Renly’s advice. After how she’d fretted over the bras, she couldn’t even wear one under the dress. She expected to put the dress on, prove it did not fit or suit her, and change into something more comfortable in the hopes of being able to get food delivered to the suite. 

To her surprise, the dress fit like a glove. The hem hit just below her knee with a modest slit on the side. It had an asymmetrical neckline that cut across her chest and only one shoulder and slim-fitting sleeve that touched above her elbow. Brienne’s other arm was bare and her shoulder exposed. She could feel the cool air on her back where the material was equally scarce. She held her hands at her hips, blushing at the realization that Jaime had paid enough attention to her to be able to correctly guess how well a dress would fit her. 

The shoes were a perfect fit, too, and Brienne took a deep breath before walking in them to the door. 

* 

“Mr. Lannister, may I offer you a drink?” 

Jaime looked at the server, to the entrance of the restaurant, and back again. He was seated alone at a table for two at the center of the expansive window. He started to say, “I suppose there’s no point in waiting any longer,” when the air suddenly seemed to be charged with a strong current of electricity. He and the server both looked toward the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of Brienne walking toward them. “Excuse us,” Jaime said, dismissing the young man and standing from his seat. 

“I hope I’m not too late,” Brienne said. 

Jaime, stunned silent, could only shake his head. He was the one who had picked out and purchased the dress, yet he felt like he was seeing it for the first time. 

The silence made her self-conscious and she touched a hand to her chest. “I hope this looks-” 

“Amazing,” Jaime whispered. He cleared his throat. “You look amazing.” He wasn’t lying. 

Brienne demurred, blushing and looking away. 

He pulled her seat out and when the server came back, Jaime ordered a bottle of red wine. He looked across the table at her, amazed that without a stitch of makeup on her face and not one piece of jewelry, she looked radiant. Brienne’s sparkling blue eyes were the only color and accessory she needed. The idea he’d ever considered her unattractive was ludicrous; she had perfect skin, smooth as marble, and her plump lips were the soft pink color of the inside of a seashell. Her short hair afforded him an unobstructed view of her face, and everything – from the scar above her lip to her off-center nose – was perfectly imperfect. Brienne was one of a kind. A masterpiece. 

* 

Brienne wasn’t going to admit it to Jaime, but the dinner they were served was the best meal she’d ever had. She didn’t think it could be topped until the server wheeled out a cart of the fixings for s’mores – house-made graham crackers, squares of milk and dark chocolate, fluffy marshmallows. The young man said, “Whenever you’re ready,” and left the cart by the fireplace. 

The two of them drank what wine remained in their glasses and walked to where two comfortable armchairs had been situated in front of the hearth. They each placed a marshmallow on a skewer and held it near the flames, and Brienne found out that Jaime preferred his to be nearly scorched. She thought it was the least elegant dessert such a fine restaurant could serve, but they shared several laughs at how melted chocolate oozed out from between the crackers to either get smeared around their mouths or drip onto the legs of Jaime’s pants. 

During the time he left to speak with the staff and tour the kitchen, Brienne took an inventory of everything she had learned about Jaime over the course of dinner and dessert. He preferred dogs to cats, wanted to move away from King’s Landing when his youngest nephew was old enough to start college, and had regrets about the distance between him and his twin sister at the time of her death. His favorite place to vacation in Dorne was not his own resort, but rather the more rugged beaches of Lemonwood. They liked the same music but not many of the same movies. It felt to Brienne like she had learned everything about him except the truth about his involvement in the theft of Lion’s Rock. 

“Ready?” Jaime asked, returning to the fireplace. 

* 

The elevator doors opened and as Brienne walked in the direction of her room, Jaime paused and said, “Wait.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him. 

“You need to see the view from my suite,” Jaime told her. 

Brienne smiled as she rotated to fully face him. “I believe we have the same view. And I was in your suite earlier.” 

“I have a locally made coffee liqueur you have to try.” 

She held a hand to her stomach. “I don’t think I can eat or drink another thing.” 

Jaime released a heavy breath and asked, “Would you please just come to my suite, Brienne? I’m having a nice time and I think you are too.” 

She was, but delaying a final goodnight to him would also increase her chance of learning about the Selmy. “Okay,” she said, approaching him. 

Jaime held the door open for her and trailed in behind. He licked his lips as he admired her from the back – her muscled calves, the curves of her ass, the jut of her shoulder blade. 

It was as if Brienne could feel the lustful graze of his eyes; she turned sharply and said, “It's a bit chilly in here. Maybe I’ll change into-” 

"I have just the thing,” Jaime said as he hurried to the hearth. 

She watched him ignite a crackling fire and reminded herself she had an opportunity to pry more information out of him about the painting. “Have you decided yet?” Brienne asked, settling on a route to eventually lead to the destination she wanted. “If you’re going to buy this place?” 

Jaime looked at her a long moment before he said, “I might have to come back again before I make a decision.” 

“Why is that?” she asked, joining him at the hearth. 

He smiled. “I'm not sure I’d be enjoying the resort as much if you weren’t here. I think you’re compromising my objectivity.” 

Brienne blushed and rolled her eyes and felt her heart flutter in her chest. 

“I mean it,” he said. “Don’t you feel it too?” 

“Feel what?” 

Jaime closed the distance between them. “The heat.” 

“The fire is lovely, yes.” 

He shook his head, amused but not giving up. He lifted his hand to lightly caress her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch. “No, Brienne. The spark. Between the two of us. Every time we’re in the same room.” Jaime’s teeth scraped his bottom lip as he studied her mouth. "It’s not about the thrill of the chase anymore. Not for me.” 

Her breath snagged in her throat. “For me either,” she admitted. 

“Do you believe me now? That I’m not pretending?” 

She couldn’t respond. 

“We haven’t talked about the Selmy once tonight,” he pointed out, and she acknowledged that with a wince and a smile, knowing her own intentions. Jaime lifted his hands to frame her face. “Can I kiss you now?” 

She barely let him finish the question. She grabbed the lapels of his suit coat and leaned forward. Their mouths met in a firm, rather clumsy kiss. The weeks of slowly circling one another gave them a sense of urgency, their need imploding until Jaime found the patience to slow down. He moved his hands, kneading Brienne’s hips, and lightened the pressure of his lips against hers. His more languid pace encouraged her to relax and wind her arms around him. Their mouths parted with shaky breaths and they held one another’s gaze before Jaime again captured her lips in a slow, searing kiss. 

Brienne trembled with need and nerves. She was frightened and thrilled, and for a while the part of her that ached to be close to Jaime overpowered the part of her that wanted to run and hide. She was grateful for the way he guided her up against the wall; she was boneless and certain to collapse otherwise. “Oh, gods,” she moaned softly as he trailed kisses down the long column of her neck, across the slope of her shoulder, and above the length of the slanted neckline of her dress. She moaned again when Jaime folded the fabric of her dress down to expose her breast and his lips closed around the tip. It was the wet, hot suction of his mouth that made her eyes snap open and she felt fear seize her by the throat. 

“Stop,” she grunted, pushing against him 

Jaime, the skin around his mouth red from the friction of her lips and flesh, stood to his full height. His hands lingered at her hips until she grabbed his wrists, urging him away. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, confused and concerned. 

She shook her head. How could she explain that the pleasure his kiss promised was something she both desperately wanted and desperately feared? For Brienne, the idea of such intimacy was foreign and had been so far out of her reach that she’d convinced herself it would never happen with another person. She’d spent so long believing that to be true, making sex and romance something to be feared rather than enjoyed. She could participate in flirty banter because there was nothing at stake. The idea of sharing the truth with a man like Jaime was terrifying and humiliating. Wouldn’t he think something must be wrong with her? What if she told him about her lack of experience and he decided it wasn’t such a good idea to go on? What if he _wanted_ to go on? 

“We... I can’t do this,” she said, sliding out from between him and the wall. 

“Brienne,” he called out, following her to the door. 

She stood in the hallway facing him. “I don’t trust you. I don’t. That’s not something s’mores and sentimental stories from your childhood can fix.” 

He opened his mouth to protest but she was resolute, hurrying to her door.


End file.
